


maybe everything that falls down eventually rises

by crimsonpeak2015



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Smoking, directly post 2.10 but pretend they're still on the yacht, i use the word "fruit" irt tom being gay so if that irks you!! just a cw, roman is a lil homophobic towards tom for a hot sec but its fine bc im gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonpeak2015/pseuds/crimsonpeak2015
Summary: roman and gerri watch the news to Cope [TM]--She’s rolling her eyes at him, he knows it, but nothing in the world matters right now except that she’s turned the light off and sits down next to him. Nothing in the world matters but the light from the television illuminating the crystal flutes and the warm rich reds of her shawl, the way he instantly relaxes at the shifting of the cushions and her body heat.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	maybe everything that falls down eventually rises

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/track/6GbOE6jRrtTuFVOz4gaHKz?si=tU1bC94dQUSu4FEdiIqRPQ

The dark is heavy in a way it hasn’t been in a long time, burrowing in his pores and in his hair, even though he showered for a fucking hour and a half earlier; even though he didn’t put gel in it because he didn’t need to feel any stickier than he already does. There aren’t even stars out, he checks as he passes windows in the corridor. Not even the goddamn moon. Just the thick black-purple of storm clouds, and the knowledge that somewhere down there is water so cold and so black that it could kill him. It was ironic, really, that the universe (or God or whatever) picked this night of all nights to go to fucking town on them. So fucking funny. Would it make a difference if he laughed? Would anything make a difference, really, now that his father had taken Kendall and tossed him overboard into that water. So fucking heavy. 

His footsteps feel heavy, feel loud, padding in his socks over the runner; and for a moment he wonders if it would wake anyone up. He kind of wants to, in that twisting part of his stomach. Just to piss everyone off. But he likes the emptiness. It’s rare that he ever really feels alone. Gerri’s room is all the way at the end of the hall, and as he gets closer he can hear the faint hum of the TV. She’s the only person he knows who watches the news this late into the night. He wonders if it calms her, in some sick way. The things you get used to working in this world of theirs, huh. 

He knocks softly and listens for her footsteps. He knows her walk, the rhythm of her weight against the ground, can always know it’s her before he even sees her. She opens the door gently, backlit in blue from the TV and glowing, and he fucking hates himself for thinking of her as a sort of lighthouse. It’s not his fault this assassination vacation is nautical themed. 

“Hey, Rome.” 

She says it in that way, in that voice of her’s, like she’s cradling him. 

“Hey.”

She brushes his arm so softly he wonders if he imagined it, and leads him into her room, turning on the lamp. The warm orange lights her up and he can see that she hasn’t changed, just took off her stockings and jewelry. It strikes him that she probably sleeps in her clothes a lot. 

“How’re you holding up?” She is so quiet it’s almost like kindness, though he isn’t sure if he’s ready to process what it means for Gerri to be kind, what it means for Gerri to be kind to him. 

“Got any--”

“Just the shitty rose from earlier”

He wants to make a joke but he feels like he's breathing for the first time since they boarded this fucker, and what he really wants to do was just pass out on the floor. Or eat her out until he dies (or she kills him).

“Yum yum.” he says half heartedly and she looks like she wanted to say something to him, for just a moment, turns instead to grab a bottle and glasses off of the counter. He moves over to the couch, and sits down on the untouched side, tossing throw pillows haphazardly onto the floor. She’s rolling her eyes at him, he knows it, but nothing in the world matters right now except that she’s turned the light off and sits down next to him. Nothing in the world matters but the light from the television illuminating the crystal flutes and the warm rich reds of her shawl, the way he instantly relaxes at the shifting of the cushions and her body heat. 

PGM’s still droning on in the background. 

“Dad’ll slaughter you if he catches you watching that. Go full-on ‘The Forest’ or whatever the fuck. Nothing left but the squeal, baby.” It’s humorless, dry, detached. He can’t bare speaking right now. But the silence is worse.

“The Jungle.” she hums, leaning over to pour the rose slowly. He watches her shadow move across the wall. 

“What?”

“That book? It’s called The Jungle.”

“Same fucking difference.”

Nothing feels real. The day didn’t feel real, but this night? This is in a whole nother dimension. This is some real Stephen Hawking shit, with the waves rocking them softly and the PGM anchor’s voice turning into white noise against the storm. It’s freezing. 

She hands him a glass and he swallows it down, wincing. This stuff is awful, serious CVS shit. Does CVS sell alcohol? Who cares, he hopes whoever picked it gets fired. They sit there quietly, him just watching her watch the news. She doesn’t look real either.

He grabs the bottle and takes a long swig. Settles back, squirming around, always uncomfortable. The storm is getting louder and the sky is blacker and he finds himself shivering, though he doesn’t feel cold. He just feels floating. 

The clicking of a lighter startles him and he looks over to see Gerri lighting a cigarette. The smell is sickening and comforting and he wonders, if he takes the lighter, how quickly his clothes will catch on fire.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

She looks at him for a long time and she’s always like that, so unreadable and so cold. But she seems to get warmer every time he looks at her. She passes him the pack and lighter.

“I don’t.”

She exhales and sighs and he feels himself melting into the sofa. There is an urge building in his chest to tear the cigarette from her mouth and press their lips together and inhale all of the smoke from her lungs. And then curl up inside them and sleep.

The wind is picking up, though he doesn’t think it’s physically possible, and the yacht is rocking and it’s so so fucking cold. It’s cold inside of him. Maybe he is high.

He lights up and puts the bottle on the ground.

“I hear Shiv and that fruit of hers had a threesome last night.” His voice is rough and cracking and he’s definitely high on something, because he feels like he got punched in the throat. 

Everything is spinning out of control but he feels so still and small against the sky and the storm and his father. And Gerri. Somehow everything is frozen in time. He can’t stop shivering.

“Did they now.”

“Have you ever had a threesome?”

She chuckles and suddenly the whole room feels warm. She takes a drag from her cigarette and the tip glows bright red in the heavy heavy blackness and maybe there are stars out tonight after all.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I’m taking that as a yes. Can I eat you out?”

She scoffs and looks at him again and things are starting to feel a little less like a dream. 

“I don’t think that’s what you really want to do right now, hmmm?”

“I’m so fucking cold.”

“Roman”

“Do you have a blanket in here or something?”

She glances around but it really is pitch black in there and when she murmurs “here” and tosses him a ball of fabric, it smells overwhelmingly like her; her perfume filling his nose and brain and he gasps, feels like he’s drowning. 

“That alright?”

“Yeah”

He pulls the sweater over himself and sighs. He watches her light another cigarette and just can’t seem to control his body as he leans over to curl up against her thigh, the stress of these past few months and especially today finally crashing over him in waves of exhaustion. He feels her hand brush against his cheek, over his eyes, to his hair. 

He shifts up to rest his head on her lap and she doesn’t react, just draws her perfect perfect fingers through his hair and smokes. Her nails are scratching gently against his scalp and the waves are lulling

“Is everything going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> this took way too much time that i definitely do not have. i barely edited it or thought it through lmaoooooo but i just needed to get this idea out. definitely not my best work or even good work but i was in the mood to make it and that's all i can really ask for. 
> 
> i hope that if youre in the US, a person of color and/or lgbt (esp in red states/cities), that you're staying safe right now!!! and if you're able to, please donate to bailfunds or other grassroots orgs!!! we owe them this election. love you guys!


End file.
